I’ll always be the yearning poetBleeding inkChasing starsDrunk on dreams.

Writing became my anchor, my solace, my opiate of choice.

You have that faraway look in your eyes that makes me want to pull you into my dreams, bring you to your knees worshiping me - desperately. You, the nectar and the muse of my poetry.

Kiss her gypsy soul and love her for the wild rose she is.

Don’t be afraid of your struggles, they are making you dangerously strong and wise. They are preparing you for your superpowers. Let them happen, otherwise you’ll stay in the same damn place you’ve always been, and until you know there is so much more awesomeness in the world and within you, you’ll be content in your tiny cocoon, spinning the same circles day in and day out. Your struggles are transforming you.

She’s a galaxy of bright hues,and her heart contains a universe of love.She is starlight.

Poetry is reality and fantasy in a pretty package It doesn’t always have to make sense, it just has to make magic.

You'll find magic everywhere, even in dark, dusty corners, if you stop searching with your limited human eyes and instead feel with your naked soul.

It’s a disease, writing. Stalking its victim day and nightIn the mind all the timeWords StoriesPoemsThere is no single solitary cure but to keep writing.